


The art of fostering

by Aisla_elfvictory



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 11:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20814689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisla_elfvictory/pseuds/Aisla_elfvictory
Summary: Abandoned by their parents, peredhil twins Elrond and Elros were taken in by grieving Feanorion brothers.Sometimes, comfort may be closer than you believe; sometimes, the road to recovery may be just around the corner.A glimpse of the Elrond and Elros in their early years as they loved and learned in the cold bleakness of Amon Ereb.





	The art of fostering

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grundy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/gifts).

_Feanor had taught them one lesson – to always look out for each other. He may not be a good father, Maedhros reflects bitterly, but he was well – meaning._

“We should kill them,” he told Macalaure (_I am so very tired already, tired since the Thangorodrim, tired since Dagor Bragollach, tired since Nirnaeth, tired since Doriath… When will this living nightmare end?_).

“They are children!” Macalaure cried, horror coating his weary face.

“It will be the lesser of two evils,” dismissively, he told his brother (_Take them in, and one day, the children will rise against you. Take them in, and they will kill you - Yes, Kano, I know you do not desire to live, but you are my brother and only family left, and family always look out for each other._).

Macalaure frowned, but he did not concede. 

“Brother…”

“Come now, Kano,” Maedhros coaxed, “Gil-Galad’s forces are arriving as we speak. We must find the Ambarussar and leave the Peredhel to Cirdan.”

* * *

He did not want to take in the sons of Earendil.

But his twins were dead (_dead, dead – vacant eyes of his precious little brothers – they were so young when they left Aman_), and Macalaure had pleaded – Macalaure who was his last little brother.

Maedhros did not have the heart to tell his brother that the peredhel, too, would have to leave one day.

“When will it grow back?”

He turned to see little Elrond, innocent little Elrond peering fixatedly at his hand, chewing on his lips with worry.

Maedhros wanted to tell the child, no, child it will not grow back. I am half an elf, half of what I once was.

But then he looked at his charge’s wide eyes, a shining grey with the youthful light of childhood, he could not bear watching them dim with horror, with fear, with pity.

So, he lied.

“Soon, child,” he murmured, smiling wanly.

“Soon.”

The peredhil beamed with all the joys of a naïve, simple-minded child, and something loosened in his chest, and somehow, for just a moment, it made lying to a child not so terrible a notion.

* * *

“You will send them to Lindon?”

The incredulous voice, tinged with just a hint of fear, trembled with anger.

Maedhros sighed. The conversation was long overdue.

“We have to,” he murmured tiredly. (_Fighting, they were always fighting these days. When will Macalaure see that the sons of Earendil, precious and pure, was never theirs to keep?)_

“We are their family, Nelyo,” argued his brother, “We are the only constants in their life – all other people left them –”

“We killed all other people they knew,” he interrupted harshly.

“They have no one left because of us. Their parents are not with them because of us. Their home was sacked because of us. Sending the children to Lindon is the only choice we have left,” Maedhros continued. (_Let them stay any longer, they might even come to love us._)

To that, Macalaure has no answer.

But another voice instead spoke, young and fearful.

“You will abandon us too?” Elros spoke softly from the doorway, wide eyes staring at them, glassy with tears.

Maedhros faltered when he saw his foster son’s innocent gaze besmirched with hurt.

“Elros,” he started, before being interrupted once more.

“Do not leave us too, Atar,” whispered Elrond, “Let us stay for a while longer. Please.”

Though part of him wished to surrender to the child’s wiles, Elrond and Elros were but children, children who do not see the danger of remaining with kinslayers, children who do not understand evil, children who need to be protected and kept safe.

“You will leave next week.” He stated, adamant.

* * *

The peredhel were planning something. 

What, Maedhros did not know. But he will see them arrive safely in Lindon if it were the last thing he did.

The plan originally went well.

Until Maglor, who was to rouse the twins, found the boys missing from their beds.

The entire fortress was woken and the search for their charges began.

They had planned the children’s education well, Maedhros knew. They had learned basic survival skills in the forest- to hide their tracks, what plants to eat and what not to - they would survive in the woods of Amon Ereb.

“They are safe,” Maedhros soothed his frantic brother, when noon came and went and there was yet no elflings found.

But he too, was wringing his hands nervously, desperate for news from what was left of the Ambarussar and Celegorm’s hunters.

Then on the second night, he found the twins.

They thought they were in trouble the moment Maedhros caught sight of them perched on a tree branch, but at that moment, Maedhros felt only relief.

And then anger.

Silently he gestured them to return with him, calling off the search parties, then ushered his charges to bathe and finally, Maedhros took a twin and Maglor the other.

* * *

“Fool,” Maedhros scolded the peredhil on his lap, exhaustedly leaning back against the chair by Elrond’s bedside.

“Don’t send me to Lindon,” mumbled Elrond, watching his fosterer’s every move with a hawk’s gaze, eyes shimmering with emotion.

“Lindon is safe,” Maedhros sighed, grasping Elrond’s hands with his own scarred one.

“Why do you not see that I am attempting to keep you safe?”

“I…” Elrond started, before dissolving into tears.

Instinctively, Maedhros gathered his fosterling close to his chest.

Slowly, Elrond’s tears dissolved, as he leaned against the elf, taking comfort in the steady pillar of strength.

“I wish to stay with you and Ada Maglor,” he hiccuped.

“It was my plan to run.” Elrond paused.

“I am sorry, Atar,” he begged, “But do not send Elros and I to Lindon.”

“It is a necessary evil-”

“I love you, Atar. Don’t send me away.”

Fresh tears burst from the child’s eyes, and Maedhros heart broke.

“I shall talk to Maglor first,” he conceded, and an involuntary smile came to his lips when he saw the Peredhil grin, troubles momentarily forgotten.

* * *

Whenever Elros was upset or mad, he would rage and cry and scream until all of the world knows his displeasure.

Maglor knew how to manage that.

But this… This is entirely new. 

By the windowsill Elros sat, hugging his knees to his chest and staring at the stars.

He did not speak until Maglor was hovering beside him, and when he did, Maglor regretted ever deciding to take in the peredhel.

“I only wished for you to love me, Ada,” Elros spoke, his tone overshadowed by hurt and pain.

When he failed to answer, Elros continued, tears coming to his eyes as he stubbornly stared away.

“Earendil left and Amme left. I should have known you and Atar Maedhros will leave too. And one day, Elrond will too. And I shall be alone, unloved and forgotten.”

(_Eru, when had he gone wrong? He had wanted the boys untouched by sorrow, unsoiled by their taint._)

“Elros,” Maglor rasped hoarsely. 

“I shall always love you.”

“Then why send us to Lindon?” the peredhil hissed, distressed.

“Because we cannot be selfish in love,” Maglor said bitterly.

“I would very much want you here with me, child, but we protect the people we love, and I must send you to Lindon, to Gil Galad and Cirdan. You will grow to love them.”

The tears on Elros’ cheeks flowed faster, but when Maglor moved to embrace his foster-son, he scooted farther away.

Maglor’s arms fell to his sides limply as their owner watched the weeping child helplessly.

“Go away,” Elros sniffed.

When Maglor did not move, he repeated, harsher, “Go away, Maglor.”

Maglor flinched and turned to leave, but before he stepped out of the doorway, he said quietly, “I understand if you will never call me ‘Ada’ again, Elros, but you will ever be my son.”

The days flew by, and yet Elros stubbornly refused to talk to his fosterers, instead scowling and glaring at them.

* * *

But then when the sixth night came, Maglor was woken by the resounding pitter-patter of unsteady feet upon cold stone tiles.

Grey eyes, glossy with tears, glared at him. 

Concern woke in him immediately, and he pulled Elros to his bed, perusing his foster son for hidden injuries.

When he could find none, he spoke.

“Talk to me, Elros,” Maglor murmured, pressing his cheek against soft raven hair. 

Elros promptly burst into tears. 

“Ada,” he was repeating as though it were a mantra.

Maglor held him closer, saying nothing. 

“I’m sorry,” cried his foster son, “I should not have ignored you. Please don’t leave me. Do not leave like everyone else.” 

Maglor grasped the child close, breathing in the scent of innocence, the scent of a child. 

“Fear not, Elros. I shall stay, come what may.”

**Author's Note:**

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